To James
by D.M.P
Summary: A metaphor for life is discovered in a father's words, and this wisdom carries on from generation to generation...


Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling, therefore I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters.

Author's Note: This fic was inspired by the poem "To James" by Frank Horne. My own version of this poem is featured here.

TO JAMES

by D.M.P.

Tonight he was having the strangest of feelings. A sort of quivering from inside. Yet it was not butterflies in his stomach. It was a fluttering of the heart. Apprehension.

James turned from the mantle clock, his back toward the fireplace. Windows dark, night had fallen outside. Warmth was felt as the fireplace roared with the jumping red and orange flames. Lily sat on the overstuffed loveseat to his left. Her head was bowed, and her soft, melodic voice whispered to the little bundle in his arms. Harry, his newborn son.

The room was cloaked in serenity. The flickering light created pleasant shadows on the walls: golden, dancing bits of light that hovered and flirted about like nightingales. Comfortable, familiar furniture was placed tastefully about the room. Tall, dark wood bookshelves lined the far wall, and a couch and loveseat set was on the dark blue and green rug. Pictures of family and friends hung on the walls, and an oil painting of the Forbidden Forest was hung over the mantle. The only sounds in the room was the steady ticking of the clock and Lily's gentle words as she fed Harry his bottle. A picture of family peace.

James sighed. Something wrong was at work, something very, very wrong. He couldn't shake that thought. He stared out the window at the blackness. The night seemed to close in on the little home, like it was on the verge of swallowing it whole.

He sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands. Lily raised her head. "James?" she asked. "Are you all right?"

He lifted his eyes toward her. Lily's long dark auburn hair shone with red highlights, and the dim light only made her green eyes sparkle. James felt his heart give that little jump as it always did when Lily talked in that manner. Her endearing concern cut through all his fear. 

"I'm just worried, I suppose," James explained. 

Lily nodded. "Him?"

"He's been on a rampage, you know," he said. "A mad killing spree. He and his Death Eaters...." He trailed off for a bit, but went on. "Last week it was Philip Douglas and his younger sister."

"I read it in the _Daily Prophet_. Their bodies were lying in at the bottom of the well outside their family's home." Lily cast her eyes down. She did not want to talk of this any longer. "I'm going to tuck Harry into his crib in a few minutes," she said. "Then I'll make us a nice cup of tea and we'll forget about it for tonight."

James silently agreed. He wanted to forget about it too, but it wouldn't leave his mind. Now that his wife recalled the article, he couldn't help but remember one particular part that stood out in his mind.

When Douglas' body was pulled up, it was reported that a dank smell was already coming from the copse. His 15 year-old sister Susan's body was pulled up after. Both were soaked from the water and beginning to rot. Apparently, investigators report that the forbidden Avada Kedavra curse was placed on Susan, killing her instantly. However, Douglas' neck appeared to be broken and his spine seriously disjointed. Both injuries appeared to be created during a fall into the well. The 21-year old man is believed to have been shoved down the 25-foot deep well while trying to retrieved her sister, possibly thinking that she was still alive. Ministry officials theorize that Douglas broke his neck in the fall and he was left to die in the dark waters of the well by his sister's corpse.

James shuddered and closed his eyes. Lying at the bottom of a well, with the waters up to your chin, seeing nothing but never-ending darkness blanketing your loved one's dead body... God, he was thankful that it didn't happen to him. Yet those unfortunate wizards in the paper could have easily been his own family. He suddenly had a vision of his own Lily, pale and bloody, sprawled on the ground, with the limp form of their child on the living room floor....

_Stop it! It's not going to happen! Not while I'm here..._ James saved face and smiled at his young wife. "I'm going to my study then. I'll be in the kitchen in a few minutes." He leaned over and kissed her sweetly on the lips, then got up and left the room.

Taking the stairs to his study one at a time, James lapsed back into thought. Yet even in his mind he could not say You-Know-Who's name. The utter wretchedness of the Dark Wizard's character prevented him from doing so.

That wizard was absolutely insane. For eleven years, he caused havoc throughout the wizarding world, with his killings and wicked cruelty. Rumor has it that this man had allied forces throughout eastern Europe among the Dark Creatures and planned to overthrow the Ministry and take over as supreme dictator. It was also said that he planned to kill all Muggles and half-Muggle wizards, and let the Purebloods rule. James was disgusted by the Dark Wizard's evil intentions of genocide, especially since Lily was Muggle-born.

Philip Douglas and his sister were both Muggle-born as well. Could You-Know-Who come to their house..?

Never! James clenched his hand on the railing. That man would never come to Godric's Hollow! And if he did, James swore to himself that he would never let Lily and Harry come to harm.

He slipped into the nearest room on his left, his personal study. Closing the door behind him, James then sat at the great oak desk that dominated the room. He took out a key and unlocked the bottom drawer. Here was where he kept some of his most precious things.

Leafing past old photos, legal documents, and past academic awards, James reached the bottom of the drawer. An old, dog-eared, letter lay at the bottom, the edges yellowed with age. It was folded over three times. On the front, in simple, straight hand-lettering were the words, "To James."

He took the letter out with the greatest of care and unfolded it. The ink had faded with time, but the words were still legible. James smiled sadly to himself as he scanned the lines. He knew the words by heart, yet every once in awhile, he would hold the letter in his hands. It gave him strength. It made him think that the person who wrote these words was by his side. Always there, to protect, to comfort, to advise. His father.

***

The sun had beat down upon the Quidditch field. Bearing its heat down on the clamorous crowd, the sun had raised the temperature to an unusually hot day. Many of the spectators were wearing loose robes; some even dared to wear Muggle shorts. But, nevertheless, everyone was ecstatic. The game had ended, and the Gyiffindor Quidditch team had won, claiming the championship.

James was mixed in with the crowd, yelling and shouting with the rest of them over the team's victory. His friends crowded closest to him. Remus was twirling Arabella Figg with a free hand, both of them laughing and smiling. Peter, who always had a tendency to become over-excited, was screaming with the Gryiffndor team captain, and shouting out over to the other team, "We showed you! We showed you what Gryfinndors are made of!" James was caught in the mist of it all, with an arm around Lily. His CometChaser 500 was still in his hand. Sirius was by his side, trying to congratulate him over the crowd's frenzy. 

"That was absolutely amazing, James!" Sirius was trying to say, his own excitement disrupting his speech. "I can't believe you caught it! Those Ravenclaws... you know, with Gilda Barlow. I'm saying - whoa - I mean, they won it for the past three years! I mean, God, I can't believe you beat her!"

"Bird-Eyed Barlow's no match for James here," Remus grinned. He clapped James on the back. "Best seeker at Hogwarts right here."

James gave a lopsided smile. "It wasn't much," he said. "I just got lucky."

"I think you're more than lucky, James," Lily said slyly and pulled him over for a quick kiss. Several people in the crowd whooped at this. After going out for three years, James and Lily were the item Hogwarts had to offer.

He and his friends made their way out of the mass of reveling students and across the playing field.

"This is a big thing, you know!" Sirius declared. "Today's Friday. Let's all go down to Hogsmeade and have a few of butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks. A little post-game celebration, huh?"

"Why not?" James shrugged. 

Coming toward the bleachers, he saw a lone man standing. He was a little over middle-age, and it showed by the gray in his hair and the little pot belly at his waist. James stopped, surprised.

"Dad?"

Gregory Potter stood idly by the bleacher sidings, looking over the metal supports. He turned around and gave a small wave.

"Hey, uh, I'll meet up with you guys later." James left the group. Lily watched him jog over to his father, and Sirius and Remus exchannged puzzled looks. But, out of respect, they all quickly left the two to themselves. 

James approached his father. "Hi Dad," he said. "Why are you here? Is something wrong with Mom?"

His father stared off over the vast field. "Been a long time since I had a chance to go around Hogwarts. Place seems smaller than I remember." He smiled at his son, and James wondered whether the man heard what he said. "Oh, your mother's fine, James," he answered softly. "I just wanted to visit you, that's all." His eye caught sight of the festive Gryfinndors. 

"Aren't we all in a joyous mood today?" He smiled. "Thought I'd like to have my old house win, but Ravenclaws can't be good at everything, can they?" Gregory gestured out toward the grassy stretch between the fields and the forest. "Let's take a little walk."

James and his father headed out in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. James walked a bit behind and saw his father's back to him. He felt a bit confused, seeing him here. There had to be a reason why he came.

They walked for a long time with James caught in a lingering, wondering silence and his father in a contemplative quiet. Gregory Potter was always the laconic type; that was one of the things that set him apart from most people James knew. He was a keen observer of the world and usually did not like to say things that did not have meaning to them. 

Fifteen minutes later, James decided that he should begin the conversation. "So..." he started. "Is there anything special I should know about?"

"Isn't today a beautiful day?" Gregory said suddenly. "A little hotter than for my tastes, but a fine day for a game." He loosened the collar of his robes a bit as he strode through the grass. "And that match was wonderful, James. You played well."

"Thanks." James flushed a bit. "You watched?"

"The whole thing." Gregory turned to his son. "The final play was amazing. How you dived past those Bludgers," he made a diving motion with one hand for emphasis, "swerved past Barlow, almost hit Fletcher in the head - you flew right above him, you know, bare inches - and wham!" He grasped a fistful of air as if the Snitch was really there. "It was amazing, James. Even I couldn't have done better than that when I used to play."

James felt the edges of his ears turn red. Gregory didn't praise him often, and he felt almost embarrassed by the compliments. This was the most he had heard his father say in awhile. "It was nothing," he dismissed.

"Really?" Gregory gave James a wide grin. "It was enough to impress me. I never knew you had it in you."

"Don't thank me," James replied modestly. "You were the one who taught me to fly."

"On that old StarShooter, right?" Gregory laughed at the memory. "You were only nine, too young to learn. But you stole that old piece of junk from the attic and started whizzing around. You were born to fly."

"And remember how I got stuck on Mrs. Kalroth's roof too?" James added. "You had to Disapparate me down!"

"Didn't stop you from trying, though," his father replied wistfully.

By that time the two came to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Even in broad daylight on a sweltering day like that, the woods immediately darkened within a few feet past the first trees and menacing sounds were heard from afar. They ignored them and Gregory leaned against a nearby tree. His forehead was beaded with sweat, and James saw that his robes were damp in some places. Gregory sighed and put a hand to his chest. He started coughing roughly, like the air was exploding out from his lungs.

"Dad? You okay?" James put a hand on the man's arm, worried.

His father continued his paradoxym of coughing, thumping his chest with his fist. He leaned forward a bit and put his hands on his knees. "Sorry there," he said hoarsely, after a few moments. "Just the old asthma kicking in again."

"Yeah. Asthma." Gregory always had trouble breathing sometimes. He always explained it was because he accidentally ate a bag of Wheezing Powder as a child. Dust, pollen, head colds, allergies - anything could trigger a spat of non-stop coughing and labored breathing. In fact, this made James more concerned about why his father was out here, where he could get another attack.

"Dad, do you want to go inside?" he asked. "We can talk there."

Gregory shook his head as another cough escaped from his lungs. "I'll be fine. I have to be leaving anyway. Took a lunch break in order to get here. I have to be back at the Ministry in half an hour."

"Oh." James hesitated. "Then why did you come?" he asked again.

Gregory tousled James' already messy black hair. "All I wanted was to see my son play for once," he answered sincerely. "Today might have been my last chance before season ended."

James grinned and looked away, abashed. Gregory gave his son a quick hug and a rough pat on the back. "I have to get going, I suppose..." He turned toward the front of the school, where his Ministry car was parked. "Don't want Mr. Crouch to start yelling at me for skipping out."

"I guess you do," was all James could think of to say.

"I'll see you later then?" Gregory began walked down the slope back toward the field. "You have to meet up with your friends at the Three Broomsticks, right?"

"Oh yeah." James remembered. "I'll just head there right now."

"I'll Disapparate you there. Least I can do, since I kept them waiting." Gregory took out his wand, a short slip of maple. "Good-bye son," he called, casting the spell. The last time James saw his father was in that position, his wand hand high in the air and the other at his side tucked into his robe pocket. A proud look was on his face, the joy of his son's victory sparkling in those deep brown eyes.

***

James sat back in the leather chair at his desk, letter still in hand. That was about six years go, when he was in his fifth year.

Gregory Potter died from a sudden asthma attack in his sleep two weeks after that meeting. Cause unknown.

It was unexpected, of course, like all deaths. James still grieved at times for the loss of his father. His mother mourned everyday until the day she passed away about year ago.

James never got to say good-bye to his father, and that always caused him the most pain. However, his mother gave him this letter, the day of the funeral. "He wrote it the day before..." she whispered. James remembered how the tears welled up in her eyes the entire day, always threatening to spill over. "It was like he just... just_ knew_..."

The letter was short, only a page long, and didn't have a real message. Instead, a poem penned with in his own familiar script. It did not possess any fancy rhyme or rhythm or meter, but James felt that it was one of the best pieces ever written. Gregory had always chosen his words with care - he never wasted them - and so James knew that every word came from the heart.

__

Do you remember

how you won

that last game...?

how you flung your body

at the start...

how the wind

whizzed by your face

as you flew

down the field...

how you catapulted

through the air

to catch the sparkling gold...

Do you remember...?

Don't you think

my breath tightened

at those first

few dives...

and when you flew into the stretch

was not all my thrill

of a thousand matches

in your blood...?

At your final drive

toward the finish

did not my shout

tell of the triumphant ecstasy

of victory...?

James nodded to himself. He remembered. He remembered every time he read those words. His ears ringing with the crowd's cheers, the sweat trailing down his face, the bright blue sky and how the slight wind blew the bangs away from his face....

He took strength from his father's words. Strength from the pride in his father's eyes and the love in his voice...

"NO!"

James jumped from his seat. "Lily..?!" He cried. Dropping the piece of paper to the ground, James vaulted over his desk and dashed out the door. Running down the hall to the nursery, he halted at the doorway, his eyes wide with disbelief. No, it couldn't be! They were in hiding; this wasn't suppose to happen! Not here! 

Lily had her back pressed against the crib, Harry held tight in her arms and to her chest. A tall, thin man stood just a few feet away from her, dressed in black robes. Him.

"Stay away!" James found himself saying in a tense voice. "Stay away from her!"

Lord Voldemort turned and grinned at him. His sullen cheeks were stretched out over the bone in a horrifying fashion when he did this, a grinning skull.

"Well, hello there, James," he addressed in a sickly pleasurable voice. "I was hoping to have a talk with you both."

James reached for the wand within his robes. Voldemort saw this and with a flick of his wand, called out, "_Expelliarmus_!"

A sudden blast hit James full in the chest and he crashed into the far wall. Collapsing to the floor, he heard Lily called out his name and the felt of wet blood trickled down his back. Unsteadily, James got to his feet. Voldemort still had that evil grin on his face, except that now he held James' wand in his hand.

"Let's be a bit civil about this, shall we?" he addressed. "We don't want to hurt anyone too badly."

James put a hand to his chest and breathed heavily. He propped a hand against the wall and looked up at Voldemort with a bitter hatred in his eyes. "What do you want?" he asked coldly.

"Now, Potter, I only came here to give you an offer." Voldemort stepped back and James quickly walked over to where Lily was standing and put an arm around her and their child.

"I want you to leave this place," James said. "We're under Dumbledore's protection..."

"Then why isn't the old man here then?" Voldemort retorted. "I'm only visiting. Nothing harmful is going to happen unless I am not pleased." He put his hands together and cracked the long, bony fingers. "Now tell me," he said in a voice as slick as a cobra, "what do you think would please me at the moment?"

James felt his heart race faster. Yet the only thing that ran through his mind were the words to the poem. The second half to his father's poem. Strange, how a mind could only think of one thing while the heart and soul were so focused in another. 

__

Live

as I have taught 

you to fly, Boy-

it's a short dash.

He had to get his family out of Voldemort's grasp. That was what his heart was saying, his soul was screaming. Save his family.

"Never." James growled in a low voice.

Voldemort chuckled in an over-confident manner. "Come again now?"

"Never will you have us." He felt all of his muscles tense. "I won't let you." His eyes matched those of the evil wizard, boring right into them with all the courage and defense he could muster. Stay away, his heart was saying. Stay away.

His mind was becoming blank now. All his could think of to stabilize himself were the words, running around and around, feeding him, motivating him.

"Go," James said in a voice mightier than his own. "Now Voldemort." 

__

Get a grip on yourself

and your broom

deep and focused

The Dark Wizard didn't seemed shocked at such an answer. He was expecting it. "I'm so sorry you feel that way, Potter. A shame, really." Voldemort had a hand around his wand, holding it delicately between two fingers. He pointed to Lily. "For a lady to die so young."

The moment past all too quickly. James felt a bolt of energy shoot through him, but not by Voldemort's wand. He felt this sudden strength run burst out from deep within him and he used this power to leap toward their enemy. To tackle him to the ground. To fight for their lives. "Lily, run!"

__

lurch off the ground

into the sky

with all the power

that is in you

"_Avada Kedavra_!" came Voldemort's cry and a bolt of green light shot out. But James was on Voldemort, throwing his wand arm out of Lily's path. The spell missed and hit the wall, sending bits of wood and plaster into the air. Lily ran from the room, Harry crying in her arms.

James fought the wizard with his bare hands, trying to snatch the wand away from him. Kicking and punching in amazing skill, he jabbed Voldemort across the face and the Dark Wizard's head snapped back. A kick to the stomach sent him sprawling.

__

look straight ahead

to the open fields

think only of the goal -

fluttering, faint, golden

"RUN!" James screamed out behind him, trying to get a hold of Voldemort. But the man was too quick, and James felt a kick at the back of his knee, causing him to stumble and fall. He looked up to see his wand, which had slipped from Voldemort's grasp. It was on the floor underneath the crib.

Voldemort was standing over him, aiming downwards with his wand at James' head. "Die, Potter!" he hissed. James grabbed and handful of Voldemort's robes, trying to throw him of balance. With his other hand he desperately groped for his wand.

__

fly straight

fly high

fly true

Have to get it, have to get it, have to get it! James reached blindly under the narrow space underneath the crib.

"Stupid fool!" Voldemort reached down to haul James up. James felt his hand brush the wood then roll away. Closer, closer, closer! 

Voldemort pulled at the collar of James' robes and hauled him up so that their faces were only a hair's breath away. "How dare you try an attack me-"

James spat into the Dark Lord's face. Voldemort screamed with fury as James reached down and with a sweep of his hand, reached for the wand. He felt his fingers wrap around the thin stick. Got it!

__

save nothing 

James called out the first spell that came to mind. "_Allumos expedum!_"

A bolt of white lightning shot through the room. Voldemort shouted the counter spell and the lightning disappeared just a few feet away from electrocuting him.

Yet James was retaliating. He fired another spell and the floor began to sink underneath Voldemort's feet like boggy quicksand. Voldemort tried lifting up his legs, but caught fast.

"_Serpensortia_!" Voldemort ordered. A puff of black smoke burst from the wand, and a long, black snake shot out, hissing fiercely. It slithered up to James and leaped to strike.

"_Phineas raptorus!_" A golden eagle flew out of James' wand in a haze of yellow mist and dived down to attack the snake. The two animals became locked in combat, coming between the two wizards. 

__

and finish

with an ecstatic burst

But it wasn't over yet.

"Avada Kadavra!!" Voldemort screamed. The pulsing bright flash came out of his wand. James tried to dodge the spell, but it hit him in the side. He felt the darkness rushing in...

_Lily!!_ his heart screamed, _ Harry!!_ Yet his mind and soul were calm. The world was fading, darkening, dissolving, and somewhere inside him, he was sobbing. He failed! He failed himself, his wife, his son....

However, he wasn't falling down to meet the darkness.

Instead, James felt himself rising higher...

And a light... fluttering, faint, golden....

He was rising to meet the light, his father's voice echoing in his head.

__

that carries you

hurtling

soaring

flying

He was flying. Higher, higher....

James knew that he didn't fail. He couldn't explain why. A mother's words echoed in his head. "It was like he just.... _just_ knew...." Yes. Those were the words. Just knew.

He would die and so would Lily. Many more people would die under Voldemort's hand. Yet James knew that his son would live. 

__

towards victory....

And as the shadow of Death came to claim James, he didn't despair. For James knew one thing. He will win. In the final game of his life, he will win. Not now, not for a long time, but victory will come.

To Harry.


End file.
